


On a Bright Cloud of Music

by RoAnshi



Category: Dragon Quest VIII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:03:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoAnshi/pseuds/RoAnshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shall we dance? - Angelo and Jessica work out a few of their issues on a ballroom dance floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On a Bright Cloud of Music

"But I don't want to dance." Jessica stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest, even as her eyes followed the figures moving around the ballroom. "Will you stop asking me?"

"Of course you do." Angelo's gloved hand tightened on her shoulder as he tried yet again to steer her closer to the dance floor. "I mean, you do realize you're swaying to the music, don't you?"

With a disdainful shrug, she forced that intrusive hand off, then deliberately stilled herself, vowing that she would be more careful with her reactions until the time came that she could make a graceful escape from this regrettable social obligation.

There was a spark in Angelo's eyes that Jessica did not trust. "Unless, of course..." he pretended to consider, "could it be that you don't know how to dance?"

Her posture went stiff. "I beg your pardon?"

The corner of his mouth lifted ever-so-slightly in ill-concealed amusement. "There's no shame in having missed out on learning one of the most important social graces--".

"I know how to dance," she snapped. "Let me rephrase this: I don't want to dance with _you_."

"Ahh." He tilted his head, those blue eyes sharpening as they locked a challenge on hers. "Is it that you think I can't?"

She looked away. "No, actually," she said, so softly under her breath that her response was deliberately lost in the music. "I'm very afraid that you _can_."

He leaned close, a quizzical look on his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear--"

She back-stepped half a pace and quickly raised her voice. "Half the ladies of Argonia would be more than willing to allow you to have your way with them on the dance floor. Ask any of them, why don't you?"

"Hmm, I suppose they would say yes." That predatory smile crossed his face as he lazily assessed the myriad unattached females who swarmed the periphery of the grand hall, exchanging glances with him at turns both coy and bold. "Quite a banquet for the eyes, aren't they?"

She dropped her voice again and muttered, "If you like overdressed tarts."

It was all Angelo's fault anyway that they were here tonight. While declining a king's invitation to attend a royal function is, as a point of etiquette, rarely done, it can be accomplished with the proper attitude of tact and diplomacy. Eight's regrets were appropriately tendered, and even Yangus managed to pull together the right words so as to not give offense when he said "no."

Angelo of course had smiled hugely, bowed expansively, and accepted on not only his, but the lady's behalf as well. She could have cheerfully gutted him right there, had that not been an even greater breach of etiquette.

Even her protests that they did not have appropriate clothing to attend such a gala did not excuse them; less than an hour later, Jessica found herself forced to choose between at least a dozen potential gowns, displayed before her by one of the castle's maids. At least, the look on Angelo's face when he'd first seen her in the pale green gown she'd selected made worth the efforts she'd expended to make herself better than presentable for the evening.

She only hoped her expression hadn't betrayed how fine she'd found him, dressed in a smartly-tailored long coat, his outfit charcoal from head-to-toe save for an elegant red bow taming his silver hair, and snug black gloves.

Still, it made her no less angry with him for making them be here in the first place.

"What?" She suddenly realized through her irritation that Angelo had been speaking to her. The musicians finished one sprightly jig, then paused for a moment as they flipped the pages on the stands before them, prior to commencing the next tune.

There was a curve to his mouth that Jessica trusted even less than the spark in his eyes. "I said yes, I suppose there are quite a few women here who wouldn't mind dancing with me. But...." In a blink, his arm snaked around her waist and he swept her enough steps forward so that now they were on the polished wood of the dance floor, in front of everyone. "I'd rather dance with _you_."

"And I'd sooner--"she began, they realized that to break away from him now would cause a scene that would be gossiped about among the courtiers for weeks to come. It might even get back to--Goddess forbid--her mother. Seething inside, she managed, "Very well. But one dance only."

"All I ask," he said smoothly. To her surprise, he stepped back to bow, murmuring, "Miss Jessica, if I may have the pleasure...?" then closed the space between them. One hand settled lightly at her waist, a whisper of touch that drew her up against him, almost too intimate. The fingers of his left hand curled slowly around her right, twining and teasing. And his smile was gone, replaced with an intensity that, even though she had thought it impossible, made her trust him even less.

The music began again, and inwardly she cringed. It carried a much slower tempo than she would have liked for any dance she was forced into with Angelo--no country dance, no rolling waltz. Those she knew and could hold her own in, as well as keep her distance. This, the kind of tune her mother frowned upon at events at their estate, required a bit too much closeness, too much concentration, too much cooperation.

Angelo, however, seemed quite pleased. "You do know this dance, don't you?"

"Of course," she lied, already wondering how and which way to move.

He caught her off-guard with his first step, the opposite of which she'd expected, and almost tripped over her own feet trying to reposition herself. One brow tilted at her in surprise; she compressed her lips, shook her head, and tried--again unsuccessfully--to anticipate his lead.

"Something wrong?" He snugged her closer and stepped to the left with an unexpected lean.

Off-balance, she stumbled again. "No--yes--you know, you're just _impossible_."

"I don't deny it." A smile flickered again. "But why are you trying so hard to _not_ follow me?"

"I'm not--"

"Jess." Against the beat, he paused for a moment, breathing against her hair. "Just... give in. Trust me. Follow my lead."

She didn't know why, but she capitulated. _Because I'll look even more foolish if I don't_ , she managed to delude herself, as she surrendered.

And she found, instantly, that it was easier. Pressed so close to him that she could feel the rise and fall of his torso as his breathing quickened, the tightening of his muscles as he flowed in a different direction, she read his body and caught the rhythm he followed.

_Step-bend-lean-SWIRL_

And he was good--very good. She found enough breath despite the complex patterns he led her through to murmur, "You dance well for a Templar."

He laughed. "I do many things well for a Templar. You should ask me about them sometime."

Those strong hands that in battle held a blade now held her with an entirely different sense of surety. _Lean-SWIRL-step-bend_. She pushed as he pulled, now controlled, a part of their dance... not a battle, but a ballet.

She anticipated when he would twirl her out to arm's-reach, and there, she executed a flourish of a turn so perfect that it would make her old dance-master back in Alexandria immeasurably proud of her. What she did not anticipate, as Angelo drew her back, was that he would catch her in his arms, lift her off her feet, and spin her around and around.

_SWIRL-SWIRL-SWIRL-SWIRL_

The light of the thousand candles illuminating the ballroom streaked like golden comets before her dazzled eyes, and the rainbow of brightly-colored gowns worn by the other revelers seemed to run like watercolors in the rain. The heat that rose from his body as they spun carried the waft of sandlewood and citrus and something else that was far too male for her comfort. Nevertheless, she closed her eyes, and inhaled. And she thought she heard him whisper to her, "Ahhhh.... you smell like daisies."

_SWIRL-step-bend...STOP._

At last he let her regain her feet, settling her feather-light back to the polished floor. Lightheaded, dizzy, she was forced to lean against him until her head cleared and she could catch her balance.

"You're flushed." He was smiling down at her, his own cheeks reddened with exertion, and she didn't know which she'd rather do, smack that smile off his face... or _kiss_ it off. " Perhaps..." His voice echoed over the first strains of the genteel waltz that followed. "Perhaps you'd like some punch to cool down?"

Breathless, she nodded, and allowed herself to be guided off the dance floor toward where refreshments waited.

The hand gloved in black kid was so warm at her waist, she wondered how, bare, it could possibly be any warmer.

Before the end of the evening, she found out. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Cha-Cha Night on "Dancing with the Stars." Seriously.


End file.
